


The Dangers of Planning

by Todesengel



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 16:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18392405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: The only flaw with Ezra's plans is that they often end in disaster. Unfortunately for Vin, disaster is just the starting point.





	The Dangers of Planning

**Author's Note:**

> So the title I had for this fic was "Idiot boys do idiot things". Which isn't exactly what this fic is about, but it's pretty close. It's also one of the more deeply self-indulgent things I've ever written, and I should probably be ashamed of all the TV medicine (and physics) that's going on in this fic, but I'm not. Anyway, have 7k of words that's sort of hurt/comfort, but with very little actual comfort being dispensed.

"Got you now, Tanner," Ambrose Tate growled as his men spread out behind him. The setting sun cast his shadow long before him, obscuring his features, but Vin didn't need to see to know that Tate was smiling that same viciously pleased smile he'd worn when this hunt first started. Nor did he need to look to know that Tate's sawed-off was pointed straight at him, the barrel steady and focused on his crotch; he had no doubt that Tate was looking forward to killing him slowly, the way he'd done to barn cats and stray dogs back when they'd been children together. 

"How'd you find me?" Vin asked as he edged slowly backwards until the heel of his right boot came down on nothing but the empty air of the canyon. He wavered, unbalanced and teetering on the canyon's edge; the relief that flooded through him when he caught his balance left him shaking and cold. 

"Your fancy cop boyfriend sold you out," one of Tate's men said with a guffawing laugh. "Walked straight into camp and gave you up for a promise that we wouldn't kill him. Begged real pretty, too."

"Sounds about right," Vin said. "He dead?"

"Nah." Tate took a step forward; the ratchet as he chambered a round in his shotgun echoed back from the canyon's walls. "Though he's gonna wish he was. Maybe we'll make you watch."

Vin nodded and edged further back, until both heels stuck out over the great, yawning chasm. "You gonna kill me, Ambrose?"

"Death's too good for a pig fucking shit stain like you," Tate said. "Reckon I'm gonna flay you alive, after I string you up like the fucking traitor—"

Vin snorted, though he knew he shouldn't have; as expected Tate stopped speaking with an affronted growl. Vin couldn't find it in himself to be upset, though, for he'd no patience for men like Ambrose Tate.

"Well, while I reckon that sounds like a mighty fine time, I think I'm gonna have to pass on it," Vin said into the silence, before he stepped off the canyon's edge. 

For a moment, as he fell freely through the evening air, Vin worried that this was the stupid idea that'd finally put him in his grave. The whole plan relied on so much luck, and though he and Ezra'd tested this part out last night, the results hadn't been what anyone would call promising; but they'd been playing Tate's game for so long, and desperation made anything seem plausible. 

And then the snare he'd managed to shuffle his feet into up on the ledge drew taut around his ankles. 

He braced himself for the pain as best he could, but there was no denying the violence of agony that tore through him. First came the aching, awful stretching of his body as the makeshift bungee jerked to a bouncing halt, rattling him to a stop from his ankles to his teeth, until he felt like all his bones were being shaken free; then the sharp crack as something shattered in a leg, a bone stressed beyond all measure, trying to bend in a way nature had never intended; then the all consuming pain as his body slammed into the side of the canyon, his tough old coat hanging up around his ears and no kind of protection against the earth's implacable beating. The world went white around him, as empty and searing as the heat of a noonday sun, and when at last he regained his senses he found himself upside down and gently swaying above the canyon's distant floor. He tried to raise his heavy head, to look up at the canyon's edge – had Tate bought the ruse? Had their desperate plan succeeded? – but it seemed an impossible task. Besides, darkness was crowding his eyes; and that had been part of the plan, to force the confrontation at sunset so that a hanging body could be more easily hidden in the canyon's shadows. It was why they'd chosen this spot, too, for the narrow ledge would work to hide his body until Tate and his men left the canyon's edge and Vin could climb his way back up and into the shallow cave they'd found. But even as Vin was sure that night was falling – for what else could be causing his eyes to dim and his vision to grow dark – he knew that couldn't be right, for the far side of the canyon was still lit up with the golden light of dusk. 

He was still pondering that problem when, at last, his own personal night engulfed him and he knew no more.

When he came back to his senses, it was to a world still filled with pain. His back felt like it was on fire, as though he was somehow lying in a bed of coals. He gasped and thrashed, struggling to sit up, to move away from the agony that engulfed him. A pair of strong hands held him down, shoved a wad of foul tasting cloth into his mouth to stifle the screams. He fought harder, to get away, blind in his animal panic; but the pain crippled him, made his arms too weak to push his attacker away, his legs too stiff to bend and find purchase against the hard earth so that he could run.

His energy waned and he lay, at last, trembling and still, panic still thundering through his veins. Noise washed over him, with no more meaning at first than the quiet susurration of the wind through the leaves; then, at last, he could recognize a human voice, distinguish human words – a plea of "I'm sorry, hush, please, hush Vin, please, I'm sorry" muttered close to his ears. He blinked and in the dim light of moon and stars he saw Ezra's pinched and worried face, hovering so close to his own; grew aware, too, of his head cradled gently in Ezra's lap. He sighed, then moaned as a new wave of agony washed through him, his every nerve cashing in their chips on his prior struggles. 

"Hush now," Ezra muttered again. He ran a soothing hand over Vin's brow, wiped away the tears that had come, unbidden, to his eyes. 

Vin let his eyes close as he took solace in the touch; it did nothing for the pain, but it soothed the deeper fear that perhaps this had been the one time Ezra's luck ran out for good. With his tongue, he pushed at the cloth stuffed in his mouth, wanting it gone, filled with the urge to ask Ezra if he was safe, if he was whole. 

"Will you scream?" Ezra asked, quietly, hand hovering over the cloth. 

Vin shook his head, then bit back the cry that rose in his throat at the motion. He felt Ezra's sigh through the shift of Ezra's legs, the brush of his chest against the top of Vin's head; he wished he could turn his head further, plead for forgiveness for his body's rude betrayal – something, anything, to get the damn cloth out of his mouth. 

"I'm going to sit you up," Ezra said, as gentle as if Vin were one of the children Ezra occasionally charmed with gaudy tricks; and maybe Vin needed that sleight of hand now, that bit of razzle-dazzle to distract him from all the aches and pains that coursed through his body. But there was no magic in Ezra's hands today, and even though he thought he'd prepared for the agony of movement, he couldn't have prepared for the intensity of it all. 

"I'm sorry," Ezra whispered, again and again, as he dragged Vin's body upright. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." 

Vin bit down on the spit-soaked cloth in his mouth and shouted all the curses and cries he knew into its muffling folds. He wished he could tell Ezra there was nothing to be sorry about, but that would be a lie; he blamed Ezra for this pain, because Ezra was there, and he was causing it, and it was too much, it was all too much. 

The darkness took him again. 

When he woke, he was upright and leaning against Ezra's chest, his shaking breath wheezing out in tandem with Ezra's steady exhalations. The pain was still there, but it lay silent, quiescent, like a half-wild dog taking warmth before a fire. Vin breathed through it and let the dog lie. His mouth was clear of the cloth and he licked his lips in celebration. 

"How…?" he asked, forcing the word past his thick tongue and an aching throat. 'How long' is what he meant to ask; or maybe 'how did you escape' or 'how are you' or 'how the hell are we going to get out of this one'; or maybe it was just wonder that he was still alive.

"I…I don't know." Ezra's voice rumbled through them both, and Vin winced as it caused the raw skin on his back to rub against the shredded edges of his shirt. "Although I was able to escape quite easily, it was some hours before I could reach our rendezvous. I…I thought you dead. Your face…" He shuddered and Vin shuddered with him, helplessly carried along by Ezra's emotions. 

"How…?" he asked again, trying to lift his arms to gesture at his broken body.

"Bad," Ezra said. "I did what I could, but your leg…" With painstaking caution Ezra reached out and flicked on one of the ancient flashlights they'd scavenged from the derelict cabin they'd found on the third day. Even with Ezra shielding the light with one hand, directing its glow down to the rough stone floor, it was too bright. Vin winced and waited for his eyes to settle; winced again, when he saw his broken leg in the flickering orange light, the bone bulging obscenely under the thin skin of his shin. 

"Reckon…" He huffed and licked his lips again; his mouth felt so damn dry. "Ribs. Cracked."

"Thought as much," Ezra said. He flicked the small light off, plunging the cave into darkness. Vin bit his lip to stifle a protesting noise; everything suddenly seemed far more ominous in the dark. 

"Thirsty," he said, instead of the half-thought pleas to bring back the light. 

"You're in shock," Ezra said. 

"Fuck off," Vin growled, but he knew Ezra was right; he was too warm and too cold all at the same time, and he was sure that was a bad sign.

"That was a terrible plan," Ezra said, at last. "My god, you could have died – you _should_ have died."

Vin let his head drop back to Ezra's shoulder so he could look the other man in the face. "Your idea."

"That doesn't make it better. You're not supposed to agree with me when I propose these kinds of schemes." Ezra scrubbed his face with one hand and shook his head. "Goddamn it."

"Worked," Vin said, shrugging as much as he dared. "We're alive."

"For how long?" Ezra murmured. Vin said nothing – there was nothing to say, nothing to do but sit in the darkness. After a time he felt Ezra's fingers begin to move across his chest, as though the man was playing a piano; it took him an uncomfortably long time to realize that Ezra was spinning a coin across his knuckles. There was something almost talismanic about the movements, as though their luck was tied to the spinning metal; and, really, except for that first, awful moment when Tate had frog-marched them into a van and driven them to this unknown place, they'd been astoundingly lucky. They'd survived, mostly intact, which was not a position Vin had thought they'd be in when Tate had shoved them out of the van and explained his sick game. 

The coin faltered, then fell from Ezra's hand. 

Vin nodded. Seemed about right that they'd run plum out of luck. 

"Called you my cop boyfriend," Vin said as Ezra hunted for the coin. He huffed out a laugh, as much for the thought as for the way Ezra startled; or maybe that was him, maybe it was his own shivering that made it seem like Ezra'd been shaken. "I wish."

"I, uh. I'm afraid I don't understand," Ezra said stiffly.

"Coulda had blowjobs." Vin clumsily patted Ezra on the knee. "Woulda been nice."

"Blowjobs," Ezra said faintly. "Here. Now."

"Adrenaline." Vin shrugged and slumped further into Ezra's warmth. "Seen you, after a bust. Feel the same way."

"Good lord." Ezra shifted and Vin waited, though he wasn't quite sure what he was waiting for. At last Ezra murmured, "Your timing, Mr. Tanner, is atrocious." 

Vin snorted, wanting to reply that his timing was excellent; it had to be in order to make the perfect kill shot, in order to feel the endless valleys between the beats of his heart. But the words grew muddled in his head and stuck, unspoken, on his tongue. He opened his mouth, wanting to sort this out – to sort Ezra out – but the world slid away from him and he followed it back into an empty darkness. 

He blinked back into consciousness in a world awash with dull sunlight and with a clearer mind. He licked his lips and stared around the small cave, taking stock of their situation. It was much as it had been the night before they put their plan into motion: a few days worth of expired MREs, the two ancient flashlights, and a couple of canteens of water. His eyes locked on the canteens as his thirst thrust itself into the forefront of his attention. They were well out of his reach, but he thought maybe if he stretched—

He stopped the scream that wanted to tear itself out of his throat through a combination of sheer stubborn pride and biting down on his cheek hard enough to fill his mouth with blood. 

When the pain eased to a dull throb, he unclenched his jaw and spat the blood onto the stone floor. The promise of water taunted him, and he glared at the dented metal canteens; he was pitiful, he knew, rendered helpless by his battered body and unable to do anything except bleed slowly into the earth. He was still lying there, glaring at the canteens, when Ezra came back to the cave, dragging a good-sized sleeping bag rolled up into a bundle behind him. Vin wrenched his gaze away from the canteens and tried to sit up; at the first faint twinge he gave it up as a bad idea and let himself flop back down onto the hard stone floor. 

"Well?" he asked quietly. "Are they gone?"

"No." Ezra sighed in frustration and shuffled into Vin's limited view. "They're looking for me." He glanced at Vin's face and frowned, but said nothing about the blood. "I managed to secure some additional supplies – food, a sleeping bag, some old maps – but it won't last."

"If you can get to the river," Vin began. Ezra huffed and shot him a foul look. 

"No. I will not—"

" _If you can get to the river_ ," Vin said again, louder and more insistently, "then you can follow it and escape."

"How?" Ezra asked sharply. "We have no idea where we are. Hell, for all we know the nearest town might be days away. There's not enough food—"

"There would be if it was just you."

"No." Ezra turned away, drumming his fingers against his thigh, the cave too small to allow him to stand and pace. "No. I'm not abandoning you, Vin." 

Vin bit back his frustrated sigh. "Ain't like I'm going anywhere," he said, softly. "Better one of us get outta here."

"Mr. Larabee would shoot me dead on the spot were I to return without you."

"Hell, he'd understand, once you told him what all happened."

Ezra laughed, a bitter noise of deep skepticism. "I'm sure that would be the case were you the one to escape and leave me here to die by slow measures. But he would not let me live if he knew I abandoned you."

Vin grunted, unwilling to get into this argument again. "Fine. Then help me sit up. And get me the damn water."

"I am not your servant, sir," Ezra snapped, but his touch was gentle as he helped Vin sit up and drink from the canteen. 

"Good," Vin said, once the warm, flat water eased the worst of his thirst. "You're shit at it." He jerked his chin at the bundle Ezra'd brought with him. "The maps in there?"

"Yes." Ezra sat back and crossed his arms, a dark glint to his eyes. "If you want them, you can fetch them yourself."

Vin glared – first at Ezra, and then at the bundle that lay just beyond the tips of his toes – and leaned forward. The agonized sob that rose unbidden to his lips can out as the barest of whispers as his back seized, the spasms forcing all the air from his lungs. But even that was better than the pain that radiated from his hips through his legs – felt like a hot wire had been run underneath his skin, or a burning spike driven through his bones. He was aware, distantly, of Ezra grabbing his shoulders and pulling him gently back, easing him down until he was flat on his back again. 

"Fuck," he groaned. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking shit ball cock eating ass monster." He glared at Ezra as best he was able to and sighed. "That good enough for you? I ain't going nowhere. You stick with me, and we're both dead. You follow that river and maybe you live and you can get me some help."

"There'll be some other way," Ezra said stubbornly. "Tonight, while they're sleeping, I'll find something. A radio. A satellite phone. Something."

"You ain't found one so far," Vin muttered.

"Then I'll kill one of them and take his radio," Ezra said. "I will not abandon you, and there's nothing you can say that will make me reconsider." 

"Fine," Vin said, frustrated and angry. "Fine." He gestured towards the bundle again. "Now are you gonna give me them maps?" 

Ezra opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something – something spiteful and cutting, Vin was sure – then shook his head. He reached forward and dragged the sleeping bag close, unrolling it enough to pull a handful of crumpled papers from its musty depths before balling it up and shoving it roughly under Vin's back, creating a small hump for Vin to recline against. 

"Jesus," Vin said, already reaching for the maps. "Your bedside manner sucks."

"My manner is just fine. It's the patient who is lacking," Ezra sniped back as he helped Vin open up the maps. They were old and faded elevation maps and Vin sighed as he looked at them; hell, he couldn't even tell if they were of this area or someplace far away. He thought one of the lines might be the edge of the canyon, but it could've been the edge to any canyon really.

"Shit," he muttered, pushing them away. "The only things these're good for are lighting fires."

"That…that is an interesting idea," Ezra said slowly. Vin frowned, not liking the gleam in Ezra's eye. 

"Same kinda interesting as jumping off a cliff?" he asked, more bitterly than he intended. 

"Ah." Ezra looked away and fiddled with his coin. "Well. A wild fire is, perhaps, a rather extreme step."

Vin barked out a laugh that became a rattling cough. "Yeah, I reckon so," he said, once he'd caught his breath again. 

"Well, it wouldn't work anyway," Ezra said, his hands stilling. "I don't have any matches."

Vin nodded. He was pretty sure he could start a fire, if it came to that, but they weren't that desperate. Although…

"Shoot, ask me again in two days. If we make it that long," he said, looking at his busted leg and their meager supplies. 

"I won't need to. I'm sure I'll manage to effect our escape tonight."

"Ezra—" Vin sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to stave of the wave of exhaustion that washed over him. 

"You should rest," Ezra said, putting a cool hand on his shoulder. "Get your strength back."

"Gonna need more'n sleep to do that," Vin muttered, but he closed his eyes anyway, this time welcoming the oblivion that rushed up to meet him.

He woke some unknown time later with a bladder full to bursting and to the sight of Ezra slumped uncomfortably against the opposite wall. He sighed and shifted, trying to decide how he was going to relieve himself without getting piss all over his jeans, when Ezra jerked awake, hand going for the gun that hadn't been there for days. 

"What--?" Ezra said, hand scrabbling at empty air. 

"Need to piss," Vin said. 

"And?" 

Vin sighed. "And I don't wanna piss my pants, Ezra."

"It'll hardly be the worse thing that's stained them," Ezra muttered, but he crawled over to Vin and helped him slowly rise to a painful crouch.

"Shit," Vin hissed as he took his first hobbling step. "Shit, shit, shit."

"You said piss, Mr. Tanner," Ezra grunted, stumbling a little under Vin's weight as they made their way out of the cave. "I refuse to help you defecate."

"Some friend," Vin said, biting back a pained whimper as he straightened up; his hands were shaking again, hard enough to make undoing the buttons on his fly seem like a monumental task. It seemed to take forever to before he had his dick out and could piss safely into the ground far, far below. He sighed in relief and watched the stream idly; it seemed darker than usual, and he couldn't understand why it seemed so strange until the last few drops splattered at his feet and he saw the bright red color clearly in the setting sun.

"Fuck," he said. Ezra stopped his impression of a bird-watching statute and turned a questioning look to him. "Kidneys. Pissing blood."

Ezra sighed. "Of course."

"If they end up going, I'm taking one of yours," Vin said as they reversed the whole slow and painful journey back inside. 

"We're not even a match, Vin," Ezra said in exasperation. 

"You're a universal donor, ain'tcha?" 

"Not by choice, I assure you." He helped Vin settle back onto the hard ground, then knelt beside him. "Mr. Tanner," he said, before glancing away and licking his lips. "Vin. While you were sleeping, I devised what I believe to be the most appropriate plan of action moving forward."

Vin frowned. "I ain't gonna like whatever you're planning, am I?" 

"I assure you, my plan is most logical." Ezra licked his lips again, like a nervous dog, and there was something in his expression that made Vin's heart lurch sideways in dread. "When they 'captured' me, Tate and his henchmen held me in one of the sheds at their compound. As I didn't wish to expose the ruse too soon, I spent several hours there, and was able to grow quite familiar with the building – including what appeared to be a door connecting the shed with the main building. Given the constraints of our plan, I didn't spend too long trying to pick the lock, but I'm certain I'd be able to do so, given sufficient time. And while I've no doubt they've fixed the lock on the shed door, I was also able to loosen a panel on the back wall while I waited. I'm certain that I can enter the odious little shed without being seen and convince the connecting door to yield to my persuasive arguments. If, as I suspect, the door leads into some unused storage room in the main house, I'll be able to explore their base camp at my leisure while they're otherwise occupied chasing my shadow. However, I'll have to leave soon to be able to enter the shed while the compound is relatively unguarded."

"Damn it, Ezra." Vin sighed and shook his head. "Sounds too risky. What if it ain't a door? What if it's alarmed?"

"If it's any of those things, then I shall retreat with all due haste," Ezra said. He reached out and put a hand on Vin's shoulder, though whether it was in warning or comfort Vin couldn't tell. "But just so we both understand, I'm telling you all this so that you won't worry if I don't come back for a day or two."

"A day or two!" Vin yelled, louder than he meant to. "What the fuck, Ezra!"

"I don't have my picks on me," Ezra said, tightly. "It'll take a while to finesse the lock. Particularly if I can only do so sporadically."

Vin's mouth firmed into a tight line and he clenched his fists. If his leg hadn't been broken and he'd been able to get a full swing…but then again, they wouldn't have been in this position in the first place if he hadn't offered to drive Ezra home that night; or if he hadn't used his history with Ambrose Tate to get an in with the white nationalist militia that'd been stockpiling illegal guns; or if he'd just paid a little fucking attention to his surroundings and noticed the kid who'd been following him for a week before Tate executed his smash and grab. 

"Reckon I can't stop you," he said bitterly. "But I want you to know I think your plan fucking sucks and if you ain't back here in two days I'm gonna start lighting shit on fire."

Ezra huffed out a laugh and tightened his grip. "I shall do my utmost to see that you aren't forced to such extremes." He licked his lips again, the nervous dog look still in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something – or ask for something that he didn't think he was allowed to have; but that couldn't be right because Vin had never known Ezra to be shy or respect such petty ideas as private property. He watched the way Ezra looked at him – noted the pinched tightness around his eyes and the slightly reluctant way he drew back his hand – and thought he had a notion as to what the problem was. And if he was wrong…

Well, it wasn't like they had to worry about any sort of future awkwardness if he was wrong.

"Do you want a blowjob?" he asked, grabbing Ezra's hand before he could pull it completely free. 

"What?" Ezra said, staring at him with wide eyes like he'd just gotten whiplash from Vin's question. 

"If you're shy about asking for one, don't be. Reckon we're both dead men, or will be soon, so if you want to go out with a smile I'm willing. Hell, I'd be asking for one myself, if it weren't for blood and the leg."

"Jesus." Ezra put a hand over his face and shook his head. Vin just stared at him, mulish and unabashed. "Vin, that wasn't—"

"I'm damn good at 'em," Vin said. "And I wasn't lying or out of my head last night when I said it was a damn shame you weren't really my cop boyfriend."

"Jesus," Ezra said again. He lowered the hand from his face and stared at Vin, his expression as blank and cool as a marble statue; if he hadn't spent so many nights playing poker with the man, Vin would have found his expression unnerving. Then, quick as a snake, Ezra leaned forward and pressed a dry and fleeting kiss to Vin's lips; Vin parted his lips as much in surprise as out of a desire to deepen the kiss, but Ezra pulled away before anything could really happen.

"Terrible timing, just terrible," he murmured as he sat back up, drawing his hand from Vin's grasp. "You can barely take a full breath with your ribs, let alone suck anyone's dick."

"Sure I can," Vin said. "I can hold my breath for four minutes at a time."

"Mr. Tanner, you—" Ezra looked up at the ceiling of the cave, as though drawing strength from some unknown god. "We are not going to die here. And when we are rescued and you have been properly assessed, I will happily revisit the subject of blowjobs or whatever you want."

"Ezra, we ain't coming out of this one," Vin said with a sigh. "Even if you could pick that lock, even if you found a phone or a radio or something to call for help, we still haven't got a goddamn clue as to where we are. And there ain't no way I'm gonna be able to get out of this cave – and that's assuming I ain't got something worse than a pair of bruised kidneys going on inside me. If we're gonna die, I'd rather spend my last hours doing something fun than sitting and waiting for you to get yourself killed."

"I hadn't pegged you as such a pessimist, Vin," Ezra said. "What is it Josiah says? 'Where there's life, there's hope'. And I want to live. More importantly, I want you to live because I refuse to have my last memory of you be one of a sordid blowjob in some godforsaken cave. When you are finally granted the privilege of sucking my dick, I want it to be somewhere clean and soft, where I can watch you get down on your knees without worrying about your broken leg." He squeezed Vin's shoulder again. "And if nothing else, consider this: I am highly incentivized to preserve my own skin so that I might call in that promise of a blowjob in the near future."

"Shit," Vin said, with feeling. "Guess I shoulda known I wouldn't be able to sweet talk you into staying." He flapped a hand at Ezra and scowled. "Go, already. Go get yourself killed."

"I'm not—" Ezra made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "Promise me, Vin, that you'll wait two days before you do anything stupid. Promise me."

"I promise," Vin said sullenly. "Two days."

"I'm going to return," Ezra said as moved the canteens closer and helped Vin onto the sleeping bag. "I won't leave you here to die alone."

"Could've been getting the best goddamn blowjob of your _life_ ," Vin muttered, turning his head away so he wouldn't have to watch Ezra leave. 

Time seemed to halt once he was alone in the cave, with nothing but the beating of his heart to mark the passing seconds. Worse, there was nothing to occupy his mind. He couldn't fall into the quiet trance of a sniper in a nest – he had no target to focus on, no object into which he could pour all of his attention and being – and every time he tried to just let go and be at peace, the niggling aches of his body would snatch him from the calm valleys of his mind; not that there were many calm valleys to be found, his thoughts too scattered with worry and fear to allow for peace. He couldn't even picture the future Ezra'd seemed so certain of – the soft, clean bed, the pair of them naked, the way Ezra's cock would lie heavy and satisfying against his lips – as his one foray into that ideal world had caused his blood to pound and given him such a headache that he'd nearly puked. 

With sleep the only thing left to do, he slept. And in sleeping, he let time slip away. It seemed he'd sleep and wake and no time would have passed at all – the cave would still be bathed in the light of day, the water would still be lukewarm, his body would still ache all over. It was impossible to tell if it was the same day, or the next; if he still had to feign hope that Ezra's cockamamie scheme would work, or if he could accept their inevitable fate and contemplate the best way to cut short his suffering. 

He closed his eyes again, and when he opened them, it was night and there were voices somewhere above him. Tate and his boys, no doubt, and though Vin knew that there was no way they'd be able to find him – knew that it really had been sheer desperation that had led him to find this cave in the first place – he still held his breath. He wanted to live. God, but he wanted to live. Even now, even with the knowledge that he was only putting off the inevitable, he still fought and feared the possibility of Tate finding him, of Tate killing him. 

"Tanner!" a strange voice bellowed. "Vin Tanner!"

Vin bit his lip to keep the sob deep in his chest where it belonged. Tate knew he was alive, and the only way he could know that was if Ezra had told him. And if Ezra had talked, then he had to be nearly dead. He had no illusions about the depths of Ezra's fortitude and it didn't surprise him that he'd been betrayed – though he was sure that Ezra had paid a grave price for guarding the knowledge as long as he did.

"Tanner!" the voice bellowed again. The echoes of his name reverberated far away down the canyon, carried off into the night by the indifferent stone. Except it wasn't just echoes – that was his name, called up and down the canyon's edge. There was a full on search party looking for him, and Vin shuddered in despair. 

The night passed in slow agony, the search party clearly reluctant to stop their efforts; the new day brought no relief, just more men searching. Seemed like a whole army of folks were looking for him, and if it'd been any other time or any other circumstances Vin might've been perversely proud of how desperately Tate wanted him found. Now, though, all he could think of were Tate's threats. He had no desire to be flayed alive – or worse – and he had no doubt that if Tate caught him, his death would be a slow and terrible thing. Better by far to die on his own terms, by his own hand though that, too, might be as impossible a dream as the one Ezra'd woven of soft beds and sex. It would take far too long for him to drag his battered body over the edge of the little ledge outside the cave to allow gravity to finish its aborted job, and yet he had no real choice given the lack of gun or knife. He catalogued the meager supplies again: the MRE's might make him wish he was dying, but that was about it; the sleeping bag was no good, nor were the canteens; the flashlights were heavy old things but they were more useful for giving someone else a terrible head wound. 

Except, the lenses were good, heavy glass, the kind of stuff to shatter into large, sharp pieces. 

Vin smiled grimly and began the long, painful process of inching his way across the cave to where Ezra'd left the damn things. It seemed to take forever, an hour for each painful inch. But, at last, his trembling fingers touched the cool metal of the flashlight. He dragged it back, panting with the effort, and levered himself up into a sitting position. His plans were almost derailed by the stubborn resistance of the rusted metal – the effort to force the lens from the body seemed to be more than he could take – but the dull _twhop-twhop-twhop_ of an incoming helicopter gave him a sudden burst of strength. It wasn't much, but it was enough, and he grinned in grim triumph as he held the disc of glass in his hands. He slammed the lens against the hard stone floor, again and again until, at last, the glass cracked and shattered in his hands. The biggest piece was no more than a half-inch long. 

Vin picked it up. 

"Vin!" Ezra's southern drawl called out to him, muffled and echoing like the voices of all the other men searching for him, yet still so recognizable. 

Vin's hand shook, and he leaned his head back in despair. Ezra was still alive, which meant he was still in Tate's clutches, and all of a sudden all the horrible images of how Tate would kill him – of being flayed, or drawn and quartered, or left to hang, half-dead, from some tree, or to be staked out in the blazing sun and a bloody eagle cut into his back – flooded his mind, but with Ezra suffering in his place. 

This time, the sob escaped. 

He couldn't do it. He couldn't let Ezra take his place – not for this, not when it was his fault they were in this mess to begin with. And while he knew they were both going to die, he knew only one of them had to die by slow inches, in a torturous ritual dedicated to Ambrose Tate's bloodlust. If he could give Ezra a good death – a quick shot to the head, from behind, no warning, nothing but the oblivion of death – then he had to do it. He owed the man that much, at least. 

He dropped the glass shard as Ezra called out his name again. His mouth was so dry – too dry to make a sound, to reveal himself. He waited, trying to find the calm and quiet spot within his mind that would let him greet his death with dignity; he was still searching for it when the entrance to the cave darkened and Ezra drawled, "Did I not tell you I would secure our escape?"

Vin gaped, momentarily unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Ezra looked clean – more than that, he was wearing clean, if somewhat shabby, clothing – and refreshed. He had about him the air of a man who'd spent a night in relative comfort – and, more importantly, did not look at all like a man that had been tortured for information. 

"You asshole," Vin said slowly, voice quavering as relief flooded through his body and left him shaking like a leaf. "You fucking asshole. I ain't ever giving you a blowjob now."

"I am wounded, sir," Ezra said, with a sad, puppy-dog look. "After I bravely undertook to storm the enemy stronghold by myself—"

"You took a goddamn shower is what you did. _And_ changed your clothes," Vin growled. He took a shuddering breath and looked down in his hands. "I thought Tate got you."

"Oh," Ezra said, soft and understanding. He swallowed and shuffled forward; his hand, when it came to rest on Vin's, was hesitant in the comfort it sought to give. "I swear to you, I thought they'd find you last night. Didn't you hear them calling your name?"

"Jesus, Ezra, I thought Tate'd tortured you to give me up. Ain't no way I was going to holler back to some damn stranger." Vin shook his head and captured Ezra's hand, holding it firmly with his own. He breathed out all the fear and anger that curled tight within him and gave Ezra a small, slightly wavering smile. 

"I didn't think," Ezra said. "The relief at being found – at knowing Tate couldn't lay another hand on either of us – must have overwhelmed my faculties."

"Reckon I probably would've done the same," Vin said, mostly certain it wasn't a lie. "Who're these fellas anyway?"

"Would you believe Border Patrol?" Ezra said with a wry smile. "It appears that we are in New Mexico."

"And they just…believed you?" Vin asked skeptically. 

"I am highly persuasive," Ezra said as he slipped his arm under Vin's shoulder and helped him to rise. "But in this instance, I believe it was Mr. Larabee's good word that carried the most weight."

"Chris? Is he here?"

"Not yet, but he will be soon. Our friends were not idle – nor particularly delicate in their search for our whereabouts. As I understand it, Director Travis will be spending a month at the very least putting out the fires Chris started with a half-dozen different agencies from here to Canada." 

"Sounds like Chris," Vin said with a pained grunt as they cleared the cave and stepped out on the narrow ledge. He could see the distinctive red of the rescue chopper brilliant against the blue of the sky, and it nearly moved him to tears. "So how'd you do it?"

"It is a tale fit for the most epic sagas," Ezra said grandly, waving his free arm with such vigor that it made Vin grunt with pain. Ezra looked at him guiltily and shifted his grip on Vin's waist. "But, ah, perhaps it's a tale for another time. As it stands, I believe the only relevant detail is that it's over. We're going home." 

"Oh," Vin said, and the relief welled up within him once more, bubbling up from his chest in a laugh that took on a nearly hysterical edge. It was overwhelming – it was all so overwhelming, this sudden cessation of tension, of fear – and he leaned heavily on Ezra and tucked his face into Ezra's shoulder to hide the tears. He half expected Ezra to recoil – the man did so hate open displays of emotion, particularly ones directed at him – but all Ezra did was tighten his grip and let him sob until there was nothing left by the clean, washed out feeling of peace. 

"Ok," Vin said at last, scrubbing his red eyes with the back of a trembling hand. "Blowjobs are back on the table."

"Oh good," Ezra said dryly. "I wasn't sure how I'd go on."

"Ass," Vin said, fondly, and titled his head back to watch the rescue chopper maneuver through the canyon. He breathed in deeply and smiled, filled with love in equal measure for the unknown men in the chopper and the man standing beside him who looked about ready to say something deeply sarcastic about something just in case there was another emotional outburst. Vin shifted and leaned a little heavier on Ezra, as much to hug him as to use him for support. 

"Four minutes, huh?" Ezra said, seemingly nonsensical, but the glance he shot Vin easily conveyed his meaning. 

"While swimming hard," Vin replied, grinning broadly. 

"Ah." Ezra swallowed and kept his gaze firmly fixed away from Vin's face, but Vin could read the thoughts he wouldn't say in the pinking of his ears and the slow lick of his lips. "That is something I'll most definitely have to keep in mind."


End file.
